Afterword

 

The Carter Ranch

Polk County, North Carolina

Ellie felt an uncharacteristic pang in her stomach. She rubbed her belly for a moment. The sensation drew her attention outside. She stood up and looked out on the peepholes that had been cut in the walls of the tent at her eye level. It was a bright, sunny day—the weather was perfect for the upcoming ceremony. She saw Steve, standing outside another, normal sized tent, Joann Canfield and Augustan Odegard standing beside him. Odegard was rubbing Steve's back. Suddenly, Steve motioned violently and dived back into the tent, Odegard following. Ellie felt her stomach roil again. It took some getting used to, Steve's and her ability to sense what each other was feeling when their emotions were strong or unpleasant. She restrained her desire to go see what was wrong with Steve. Canfield was walking her way, so she would find out soon enough.

Ellie returned to her seat in her tent and picked up her new shoes. Steve had surprised her with them three days ago, and she felt herself warm in recollection. They were high-heeled pumps made of a heavy nylon mesh wrapped in white leather and reinforced with steel to take her weight. Ellie had been utterly delighted when she tried them on for the first time—they fit perfectly. They made the perfect addition to her wardrobe for the day, even if they added four feet to her height and necessitated having her skirt re-done.

Ellie was starting to become truly accustomed to her size. After Steve and Canfield had deduced her final stature Steve had ordered a T-shirt for her emblazoned with the caption FIFTY-THREE FEET AND PROUD OF IT. She smiled as she recalled the success of his joke. Being so big and tall was the biggest challenge she could have ever imagined. She was required to learn an entirely new perspective on everything around her. She slipped the shoes on her white stockinged feet. Standing, she felt her hair brush the roof of the tent. She ducked. She didn’t want her hair mussed today, especially after the effort that went into having it cut. Ellie found she liked having long hair, but ground length got ridiculous quickly. After some thought, and Steve’s input—he half-jokingly suggested that keeping her hair long would make his need to use ropes to reach her shoulders (and other body parts) unnecessary in the future—she had decided that calf-length was good, and she reclaimed the bangs across her forehead that had been her style since high school. Right now her hair was unbound and draped thickly across her shoulders down her back. Even shorn of almost thirty pounds of hair she still felt it’s weight. It was something else she was becoming accustomed to.

"Ellie? Can I come in?" she heard Canfield’s voice call out.

"Yes, Joann," she replied. Canfield ducked around the flaps of the tent as Ellie shifted her feet to ensure her shoes were on snugly. Canfield looked up at Ellie and stopped dead, her mouth open. Ellie smiled.

"What wrong with Steve?" Ellie asked. Canfield started.

"How did you know—oh, never mind, I forgot. I’m afraid Steve’s got a case of the jitters. I had the same thing on my day. Don’t worry, Ellie, he’ll be fine. God-damn, girl, you are gorgeous."

Ellie’s smile broadened at Canfield’s compliment. She let her ground-length skirt fall and pirouetted before Canfield. Ellie’s gown was of snow-white silk brocade bearing elaborate patterns of fleur-de-lis, chrysanthemums and rosettes stitched in white-gold-colored thread. The low-cut bodice was covered by a lace décolletage that rose to a collar around her neck. Lace also covered her shoulders and back. The gown had been carefully tailored to fit Ellie, exemplifying her curvaceous form—a luxury impossible while she was growing. In her gown it was impossible to ignore that she was a stunning, buxom woman. Her silk skirt, its hem bordered by brushed white astrakhan, swirled as she moved. Ellie blushed at Canfield’s continued frank appraisal and reached for her cloak, which hung from a hook on the wall of the tent. Like the gown it too was made of silk, its hems battened with a border of more astrakhan. Ellie slipped her cloak over her shoulders and hooked its gold clasp across her throat. She drew the cloak around her and lifted its hood over her head. Her bouquet sat on her bench—a mass of roses in a lace cloth tied with a white silk ribbon. She picked it up and cupped it in her hand.

"By all the Holy—you are gonna turn more heads today then you ever have before, Ellie," Canfield breathed. "That Steven thought of everything, didn’t he?"

Ellie grinned. Steve had insisted that proper clothes for Ellie was a priority. The day after they arrived home he and Canfield had patiently gone over Ellie’s measurements. Once he had those in hand Steve had spent two hours on the phone in a long-distance call. The results had arrived two days later—dresses, tops, skirts, slacks, underwear. Ellie even had denims and a insulated coat (even though she rarely needed it—she still did not feel any extremes of temperature). More stuff arrived later, including outfits made of dyed leather which surprised Ellie with their comfort and durability. Shoes also arrived—some little more than open sandals, others almost like regular shoes. Her gown and cloak were the pièce de résistance, arriving the week before the ceremony.

Ellie looked at her bench seat. Her smile grew broader. She leaned down and picked up a small piece of cloth from her seat.

"Yes, he did. I even got two pair of these," she said. Canfield’s eyes boggled at the huge frilly garter Ellie held in her hand. "I’m wearing the other set. I think I’ll tease Steve and see if he wants to try taking one off and tossing it into the crowd during the reception."

"The man is a total rake!"

"Yes, he is," Ellie laughed.

"You’d better settle him down, girl."

Ellie shook her head, but her smile remained.

"I never want him to change, Joann. I want him to live forever, just like he is now."

Canfield smiled. "Good," she replied. The clear sound of bells suddenly made themselves heard. Canfield cocked her ear to listen for a moment. Her smile grew.

"Let’s go, Ellie," she said.

 

Ellie stepped out of her tent, bouquet in hand. Canfield took the lead, walking twenty paces in front of her. They had discovered in practice that anyone walking on front of Ellie had to be twenty paces or better—closer, and Ellie couldn’t see them over her bosom, thus running the risk of her stepping on them. The roar of a helicopter drowned out the sweet sounds of the bells. Ellie sighed. She had counted at least seven helicopters floating over the field, and only one belonged to the North Carolina State Police. The others all belonged to news organizations. Journalists from around the world had pursued her and Steve for the last month with a relentless, almost desperate energy, their cameras trained on her day and night. Ellie was frequently reminded of Steve’s joke just after he met her, when he’d told her how her eating dinner or taking a walk would be a major media event. He had been right—the press urgently followed her every move and happily printed or showed what would otherwise be mundane, trivial aspects of anybody’s daily life as world-shattering events. It was something else she was going to have to get used to, until the press tired of broadcasting her menu, or how much she ate, or how fast she could walk or run.

Ellie lost sight of Canfield and slowed her pace. Their path was dictated by the perforated steel plates stretched on the grass from her tent to the platform erected for the ceremony. At nearly six tons body weight Ellie was far lighter than she should be, given her height—so the scientists kept declaiming—but it was enough to cause her feet to sink into any kind of soft ground. Steve had purchased the farm bordering his property to both give them room away from the mass media monsters (as Steve referred to them) and to permit him to build a track for them both to exercise on. Everything was fine until Ellie wore her pumps. She took one step onto the field and her heels buried themselves completely in the earth. She refused to come to the ceremony in her bare feet, and the six-inch wide heels of her pumps punched holes in wooden planking. It was the North Carolina National Guard who came to her rescue (the press had, of course, promptly reported her problem), offering the use of the paving plates. They were originally designed to build runways in sandy or soft areas quickly, and they worked fine under Ellie’s feet.

Ellie felt the rotor wash of another news chopper wash over her, flapping her cloak. She drew the cloak closer to her and continued on. Both she and Steve had been busy getting settled and planning the wedding since she left St. Luke’s. Steve’s house had been ransacked thoroughly by government people after they were detained, and it had taken almost an entire day to clean up the mess. Steve’s computer and many of his records had disappeared during the search—Steve had grinned to Ellie when he told her, as he had both destroyed all his important records prior to the arrival of the troops that day and had installed what he described as an exceptionally nasty virus on his hard drive.

"Hope whoever tries to recover data off that drive has all their stuff backed up," he had chuckled. "When that virus cuts loose they won’t be able to boot up their computer, nonetheless run anything on it. If it’s networked, they’re in even bigger trouble. It’ll cost them to replace all their hard drives—that virus never goes away."

Ellie snorted. She and Steve had retreated to her tents—although she had to stoop inside them, it was at least warm and dry. Their first night alone had been a long one and Ellie had surprised herself by falling asleep in the middle of it. Steve woke her the next morning with a pot of fresh coffee. Ellie made her first unpleasant discovery about Steve that morning—he was a terrible cook, and, worse, a stubborn one. It took her almost a whole day to convince him to let her help in the kitchen, and a half day of effort on her part to make enough room in the wall between the kitchen and solarium. Her first day of trying to function in a world which was designed for people one-tenth her size had been trying and disappointing. Simple things like preparing food for a meal were significant trials now—potatoes were the size of peas, and peas were like grains of sand. Steve, thoroughly browbeaten by her criticisms of his cooking, acted as chef while she directed his efforts. Each successive day got better, then more and better help arrived. Directé Action Security Services contacted Steve, unbidden, in the person of its chief, Raoul Boret. He had brought two people with him, a married couple who he recommended effusively. Morton and Bertha Hawkings proved to be a godsend to them both—efficient, skilled, and well-versed in dealing with the public and the mass media.

In the days immediately following, Ellie felt increasingly puzzled by her unbidden popularity. Spectators suddenly appeared around their property, often surreptitiously taking photos of her. The intense curiosity of the complete strangers who skulked around their property or even drove up the road to look at her was disconcerting—she once even spotted an interloper running from her privy one morning. She began to feel naked and penned-in by the scrutiny. Steve was badly distressed by what Ellie was experiencing, but he could do little to help—it was impossible for a fifty-three foot woman to hide. Then one day Ellie was walking with Steve to see the horse farm he had just contracted to buy that bordered his property. The mass media was in their usual form, abetted by a crowd of onlookers. Ellie tried to ignore the stares and the camera lenses and the shouted questions and comments, but it was all suddenly too much—she picked up her pace until she was almost running in an effort to get away from them. Steve had to cling to the shoulder of her top with both hands to avoid taking a forty-four foot tumble to the ground. As soon as she had outrun the crowd Ellie burst into tears.

"This is terrible," she sobbed. "I’m a freak."

Steve gathered himself back up on her shoulder. Ellie saw his gesture out of the corner of her eye and took him in her hand. He smiled gently and stroked her thumb.

"You’re no freak, Ellie," he said. "Don’t ever think that. You’re no freak. Remember what Doc Canfield said? You’re special. You’re very, very special. Please don’t cry, Ellie."

"But they won’t leave me alone," Ellie replied. "I feel like an animal in a zoo. They keep staring at me."

"You’re no animal in a zoo, Ellie," Steve said. He smiled. "You’re my fifty-three foot fiancée."

Ellie looked at him for a moment, then suddenly giggled through her tears. Steve closed in eyes in relief.

"Good, that’s better," he said. He cocked one eyebrow, and grinned.

"I know," he said, snapping his fingers. "Let’s take the fight to them."

"What?"

"All these people you and I see everyday? They’re almost all strangers. Morton told me he counted twenty-eight satellite vans lined up along the road one day. None of them are local. All those oglers are from outside the county, too. Let’s go visit our neighbors. Ellie, you are kind, and gentle, and very, very attractive—oops, shouldn’t have said that, you’re head’s gonna swell—"

"Steve!"

"Oh, okay. Anyway, let’s go to town."

"What? Steve, that’s crazy."

"No, it’s not. Please trust me in this, Ellie. Remember my instincts. Let’s go to town."

Ellie reluctantly nodded assent. As soon as she and Steve had finished at the farm she gathered him on her shoulder and began to walk to Columbus. She would recall later with amusement the reactions of their watchers—their frenzied efforts to follow her resulted in many minor accidents and much confusion. The citizens of Columbus reacted to her much as she remembered when she first appeared from inside the hospital—with shock, incredulity and fright. At Steve’s direction she walked nearly to the center of town, stopping periodically at various stores. Unsurprisingly, she drew immediate official attention. Russ Thompson quickly appeared in his cruiser, joined by two deputies, who managed to block the mass media which was now racing into town to follow her. Ellie felt the tension around her begin to ease as she chatted with Thompson. Some of the townspeople, emboldened by Thompson’s apparent comfort with Ellie, began to approach her. Soon she was exchanging greetings with almost two dozen people who had gathered around her. Steve had come out of the food market to see Ellie surrounded. She saw him smile broadly and he stepped into the crowd, shopping bags in hand. While people looked on he handed her the bags, which she slipped into her shirt pocket. Then she laid her hand out for him to climb onto.

"Going up," he said as Ellie lifted him. A ripple of laughter went through the crowd. The people around her were grinning. Ellie heard gasps as she spilled Steve onto her shoulder. He quickly settled himself. He looked up to see Ellie’s eye on him. She had a pleasant, surprised smile on her face. He nodded.

"Maybe you should have a seat made on the shoulder of your shirts for me," Steve said softly. "With a lap belt. You wouldn’t have to hold onto me all the time."

Ellie looked puzzled for a second, then her eyes softened. She gave Steve that special look she reserved for him alone. He blushed.

"But I like holding you, Steve," she replied. Her response drew another round of gasps from the crowd, and more laughter. Someone started clapping, and others joined in. Ellie looked down at the crowd—it had grown to almost four dozen—and felt herself smile again.

After that day things got better for Ellie. She found her spectators were generally as pleasant as the townspeople, although the press still tried her patience. The high point came when she headed to town on her own, bearing papers for the lawyers handling their purchase of the farm. While standing outside the lawyers’ offices she suddenly found herself surrounded by a gaggle of children from the school down the street—the fourth grade class she had rescued. The kids were excited to see her, and promptly turned her into a living joyride. With Ellie kneeling in the middle of the road all traffic around the area came to a standstill, and more people came out to see her. Steve had been right—once people got past her size her friendly, outgoing nature won them over. Even the press noticed it, sometimes to their detriment—more than one journalist was treated with open hostility by the townspeople when they pressed at Ellie too strongly, and the city council, in one of it’s fastest legislative sessions ever, passed an ordinance forbidding most of the satellite trucks used by the mass media on the city streets. Ellie found herself feeling like she was part of her new community. She also started to feel she was part of the human race again. It was a wonderful feeling.

 

Ellie could see the platform now. It was built in the shape of a broad U and was covered with white canvas. Twenty-five feet off the ground, it reached her hips when she stood within its circle. Ellie stole glances to her left and right. There had to be at least a thousand people around the periphery of the field, politely standing along the fencing thrown up by the state police for the occasion. They had only invited a very few people to the ceremony—Mark and Nancy of course, with Sally and Dennis, then Canfield and Odegard, Russ Thompson and his family. The families of the children Ellie had rescued the previous month had been formally invited and to Ellie’s delight all of them had agreed. The spectators were from Columbus, Tryon, Edneyville, Asheville—from across the world, for that matter. Ellie could see banners being held by some of the people. GOOD LUCK AND GOD BLESS, said one. WE LOVE GTS ELLIE said another. She had only discovered the night before that GTS stood for giantess. LOVE YOUR WALK was a third slogan—she couldn’t imagine what it meant. Still others were written in French or German, and others still in some sort of Asian calligraphy and she hadn’t the slightest idea what they said. She focused her hearing on the crowd. It was not very loud but it was tremendously excited. She smiled at the incredulous tones and breathless exclamations.

Ellie reached the platform. She watched Canfield scoot up the wooden steps to its top to join her husband. Steve was already there. He was pale but looked resplendent in his conservatively-cut suit. Russ Thompson, with his wife and daughter at his side, stood by the railing of the platform, his smart, dark-blue dress uniform helping hide his bulk. His daughter Kathy smiled hugely up at Ellie as she approached, waving her arm. Only her mother’s firm grip on her hand kept her from racing across the platform to Ellie. The other families also had risen, and were also obliged to restrain their kids. One of Ellie’s new joys was the fact that at fifty three feet in height she had become a major source of fascination for children. It was like she was a magnet, attracting them. When she had Steve had walked to Tryon two weeks previously to visit a jeweler she had emptied a nearby playground full of kids, who decided she was much more interesting than any swing set or monkey bars. She smiled down at the kids and waved as discreetly as her five-foot long hand would allow.

Steve looked up at her. Ellie felt herself melt in his gaze. He was as positive, as enthusiastic, and as loving as ever. Each day found her loving him more and more. As she looked at him she wanted to take him in her hands again. She loved having him in her hands, or on her shoulder, or even perched in her cleavage. They spent entire days talking to one another, him sitting on her outstretched hands, she bringing her hands to her face so she could get a kiss or give one in return. Even their intimacy had not been spoiled by the increased disparity in their sizes—she still found his hands made her skin prickle and her muscles twitch, no matter how small they were. His lips on hers made her hum with pleasure each time. He still had magic when he touched her breasts or made love to her. Ellie felt herself glowing with the memories. Steve met her eyes. His smile broadened too. She knew that Steve and she often felt each other’s emotions or feelings—they were linked together, forever, and both of them loved being so. The ceremony was more a formality for them.

Reverend Pritchard, his cassock and stole flapping in the gentle breeze, stepped forward. He gestured, and Sally came forward, bearing a bright golden circle on a cushion. Her opposite was Odegard, acting as Best Man and Ringbearer. Little Dennis had tried to heft Ellie’s ring, but almost thirty pounds of pure gold with a mass of diamonds at its peak stopped him. The sheer size of the ring Steve had gotten for her still astounded Ellie—the thing must have taken several craftsmen almost a month to mold, fit and polish. Odegard hefted the ring on a pillow. Pritchard looked up at Ellie. Like many other people in Columbus and Edneyville he had become a good friend to her. Ellie was often surprised at how adjusted people became to her after they met her—Steve had been right about that, too.

"Let us begin," Pritchard said.

 

CIA Headquarters

Langley, Virginia

The offices of the Central Intelligence Agency were virtually shut down for Christmas. The guard at the front lobby entrance was bored and had to fight to stay awake. He had turned on his television set to alleviate the monotony. It was a special report—the Giantesses’ wedding.

"Wow," he said. It was a helicopter shot of the ceremony! The giantess was incredibly beautiful and stacked to all get out, he thought—the other people were so small next to her the news cameras couldn’t focus on all of them at the same time. How in the hell was the guy supposed to consummate that joining—

The guard suddenly realized he was not the only audience. A tall, thin, colorless man had appeared next to his kiosk like an apparition.

"Good morning," the guard said conversationally. The man nodded. He spoke no word as he signed in and pulled out his security badge. The guard nodded. He saw the man’s eyes were fixed on the TV screen.

"Ain’t that some shit?" he said. "Look at the size of her. They say she’s a really nice person, too. Man, I don’t envy the guy marrying her—he’s not gonna be getting any, unless he’s got a ten-foot schlong or she’s tight as all get out. They ain’t gonna need no vaseline, that’s for sure."

A fixed, mirthless smile cross the colorless man’s face.

"We’ll see," he said as he walked away.

 

Atkinson Towers

San Francisco, California

Amanda Atkinson watched the television carefully, silently willing the cameraman to repeat the motion he had just made with the helicopter camera. He did, panning up and down the giantesses’ massive form inside her sheer-looking wedding dress. Atkinson gulped in an effort to moisten her mouth and throat. Her heart was pounding in her chest so badly she thought it would burst out any minute. God, what a body this Andersen woman had! So curvy, so tall, so built! Atkinson licked away the bubble of saliva that was sliding out of her open mouth and down her chin. A jumble of emotions were crowding together inside her, each demanding attention—envy, fear, avarice, joy, jealousy, carnal desire. Atkinson let her eyes stray from the screen for one second. The library of tapes she was amassing about the giantess was getting too big for her videotape cabinet—she’ll have to call someone out from their Christmas dinner to get her another one. She smiled at the thought.

Amanda Atkinson hated being called anything but her full name. She hated Mandy. She hated the cruel, uninspired nicknames she had been given in high school and college—Shorty, Stuffed, Soda Straw, and, most of all, her enduring nickname, the one that followed her from high school to college and beyond, Double-A. It was a pun on her first name, and then her married name. It was also a slight against her A-cup bust size. She hated it. Amanda Morris had been both greedy and impatient. She did not lack for intellect, or education—she just didn’t want to wait however many years it would take to become successful. She wanted money and power right away and she’d gotten it. Omar Atkinson was fabulously successful, widowed, and overweight, arthritic, a chain smoker and forty years her senior. She’d met him by accident at a job fair. He was taken with her almost immediately—he told her she reminded him of his dear, departed Tabitha. Amanda smelled opportunity at once. Within two months she had a ring on her finger and a house full of pissed-off relations. She hated the gnarled, shaking hands of her husband, but she loved the money and power he wielded. She cajoled and sweet-talked and let Oman make love to her, and soon he was twisted around her little finger. It took only a little persuasion to get massive gifts of stock in his company, and a place on the board of directors. A little more persuasion and she was the heir to his empire, courtesy of a change in his will.

Then she put her next plan into action. At her prodding Omar tried to reverse the effects of time on his body. Amanda helped, buying him special powders and drinks and vitamins. She rubbed her hands over him every night. She begged him to make love to her over and over. As she planned he soon dropped dead of a heart attack, and she inherited enough stock to make her the President of Atkinson Financial. The resulting bloodletting was spectacular, even by modern standards. Her retention criteria were simple: obey, or be crushed. It was her real turn-on, pushing and ordering people about. Senior executives with thirty years in the business were forced to run her errands and kiss her feet—the alternative was unemployment in a tight job market. She browbeat her dead husband’s relatives, sold off most of his real estate holdings, went on an orgy of spending, and generally enjoyed herself hugely.

Then came the day two months ago when a senior executive, one of the people who had come in to Atkinson Financial from the beginning, got too uppity for her. She promptly summoned him into her office and gave him five minutes notice. He had risen slowly from his chair and approached her desk. Amanda had risen also. As he got closer and closer to her Amanda felt a sudden, visceral stab of uncertainty. The executive was perhaps six foot four. At four feet seven inches tall she found herself craning her neck to the point of discomfort in order to keep her eyes on his pale, strained face. He had leaned over her desk, and held up his hand in front of her face.

"I’ll leave," he had said. He brought his thumb and forefinger together until only an inch or two separated them and thrust his hand into her face.

"Do you see this?" he said. "This is you, Ms. Atkinson. You think you’re big because you got Omar’s company, but you’re not. You’re this big, do you understand? You’re this big, and you’ll always be this big."

He had punctuated the word big with a shake of his hand in her face. Then, he turned and left her office. Amanda sat back in her chair, her face aflame. That oversized, miserable bastard, making her feel like a small child! Then, the realization struck her—she could cajole, and order, and fire people, but she could not physically dominate them. Not the way she wanted to. She just wasn’t physically big enough to look down on people, to scare them. The thought worked around inside her skull like a bucket of sharp stones, stinging and rattling. Everything she had done so far no longer mattered—couldn’t matter, didn’t matter. What she had become was not what she really wanted. All her efforts to become a wealthy, important, powerful person were not enough—she needed to be physically bigger than everyone else to make her real dream come true.

Amanda began to dwell in a fantasy world. She informed herself on herbal medicines, experimental drugs, even surgical procedures to boost physical size and strength. Nothing would help her the way she wanted to be helped. She wanted to be big—not a few inches taller. Big, not muscle-bound. Big. After a month of relentless searching for the miracle she desired, she fell back to earth with a crash. Then, when her idea of somehow growing bigger was becoming an increasingly vague memory the news was filled with reports of an ordinary woman who was becoming what she had most desperately wanted to be.

Amanda turned back to the TV screen. The giantess was filling the screen again. Amanda’s eyes traced over her giant curves, her long, muscled arms, the obvious length of her legs. Amanda’s hand stole once more to the hem of her skirt. As she watched the Christmas Wedding of All Time (the news people said so), she pulled her skirt up until it was above her waist. Her crotch was already damp—again—and she slipped two fingers around her panty panel and inside herself. She began to stroke, slowly at first, then faster and faster. She felt her excitement rise more and more as she watched the giantess on TV. A little voice in the back of her mind told her again what her plan was. The giantess had said in interviews that the object she touched came to Earth in a meteorite. There had to be other meteorites—Amanda refused to believe there was just one of the things. There had to be. She would advertise in specialty magazines and websites across the world—ten million dollars to the party or parties who brought her an untouched alien orb. She would touch it. It would change her the same way it changed this Eleanor Andersen on the television screen. She would be rich, powerful, and big. Amanda orgasmed as the thought of being big reverberated inside her mind. She had to have an alien orb of her own.

 

The Carter Ranch

Polk County, North Carolina

"I, Eleanor, take you, Steven, to be my lawfully wedded husband."

Ellie’s voice was clear and soft.

"To have and to hold from this day forward."

She carefully retrieved Steve’s ring from the tiny cushion borne by Sally.

"For better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health."

As she spoke her vow Ellie reached down with the ring. Steve brought up his left hand.

"I will keep only unto you, forsaking all others, for as long as we both shall live."

Ellie carefully placed the ring on his finger.

"With this ring, I thee wed."

Ellie couldn’t help the smile the dominated her face, or the tears that misted her eyes. She held out her hand. Steve placed his hand within hers. Reverend Pritchard stepped forward and put his hand atop both of theirs.

"Forasmuch as Steven and Eleanor have consented together in holy wedlock, have witnessed the same before God and this company, have given their pledge and troth each to the other, and have by these rings and by joining hands declared the same, I pronounce that they are man and wife, in the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen."

Strickland removed his hand. He looked up at Ellie.

"You may now kiss the groom," he said, a broad smile crossing his face. Steve showed his surprise at the sudden departure from their rehearsed lines, but he had no time to ask why. Ellie quickly scooped him up in her hands, brought him to her lips, and kissed him soundly.

"I love you, Steven Carter," she whispered. She looked carefully at him. His expression—euphoric, intense, loving—made her reel with joy. He reached out and grasped her ears, and kissed her lips again, one at a time.

"I love you, Eleanor Carter," he replied. At his use of her new name Ellie’s smile grew wide. She did not hear the cheer of the assembly on the platform around her, or the distant roar of the spectators. All of her being was focused on her husband, sitting easily in her hands, his warm brown eyes growing moist as he too felt their love for one another filling them both. Ellie pursed her lips and bent forward slightly to kiss Steve again, and again.

 

With Steve on her shoulder Ellie made her way back along the track that led to the road from the field to her temporary tent, which was pitched beside their new, under-construction home. She was walking with her normal stride, which meant that everyone else in the wedding party was falling behind. She had flung her cloak open. It rippled in the breeze of her passage. Steve sat next to the gold clasp near her neck.

"We should have Christmas weddings more often," Steve said conversationally. Ellie looked at him on her right shoulder, her mouth open in pretended shock.

"What, d’you want to get married each year at Christmas?"

"Sure, why not," he replied. His expression warmed her. She brought up her hand, slipping it around his torso, her thumb against his back, her fingers draped over his legs. She felt the urge to kiss him again so she shoved him up her shoulder until he was within range of her lips and suited action to thought. He began laughing as she nibbled at him.

"God, I love you so much, beautiful, but I’m going to be a mess at the reception if you keep that up," he said. "Careful, here’s the gate."

Ellie bent forward to see the broad gate the separated the field from the road. A sea of faces bordered by various vehicles—cars, trailers, semis bearing satellite dishes—filled the road and the field beyond. Ellie saw a dozen cameras being trained on her. She gripped Steve more firmly in one hand as she bent over to unlatch the gate with the other. Using the gate as a barrier she gently pushed the crowd away from her path.

"This was just our marriage," she said to the crowd, smiling. "People get married every day, you know."

"Not like you!" a voice shouted back. Ellie chuckled and straightened up. She turned to start up the road towards their tent.

"Please help us."

Ellie stopped, and turned. She looked over either shoulder at the crowd.

"Who said that?" she asked softly. Suddenly her eyes caught a glimpse of something. Something that glinted in the light. She lost it among the press of bodies.

"What’s up, El?" Steve asked. Ellie shifted her hand on him and then lifted him from her shoulder.

"Steve—" she began. The object she had seen before caught her eye again. Cupped in a slim, long-fingered hand, it was a perfectly circular—like a gleaming, baseball-sized pearl. Ellie felt Steve suddenly stiffen in her hand as he, too, caught sight of the object. Ellie put her free hand to her mouth in surprise.

"Oh, boy," she heard Steve say. "Better put me down there."

"Please, help us," the voice repeated. Ellie looked at the owner of the hand. She looked oriental, with lustrously thick black hair and dark, almond-shaped eyes. Ellie could see tears streaming from those eyes as the girl looked up towards Ellie. She was young, younger than Ellie: a voluptuous teenager, dressed in shabby denims that were too tight on her hips but bagged at her waist, and a sweater at least two sizes too small for her body. Immediately behind her a tall, gangly boy in denims with crewcut hair and blue eyes followed, his hand on her shoulder. Steve, free of Ellie’s hand, darted into the crowd. Ellie followed. As she anticipated, the mass panicked as she stepped into them and scattered, allowing her an unimpeded path towards the two visitors..

Steve reached them first. He looked up and waved to Ellie. Ellie gathered her skirt around her ankles and sat on her heels. She slowly brought her hands down toward the girl, who squeaked in fright and began to back away.

"Don’t be afraid," Ellie said softly. "I won’t hurt you. Come into my hands."

The girl hesitated for a moment, then nerved herself within the circle of Ellie’s fingers. Ellie clasped her hands closed around the girl and rose into the air until she was erect. The girl was almost panic-stricken at her sudden change in altitude. She still carried the orb in her hand.

"What’s your name?" Ellie asked. The girl gulped convulsively.

"Sam. Samantha Isagiri. I—oh!"

"What wrong?"

"It happened again," Samantha said. Ellie nodded. She looked over her shoulder at Steve, who gave her a thumbs-up and promptly grabbed the arm of the blue-eyed boy. Ellie noticed the boy was at least a good head taller than her husband's six feet.

"Hello," She heard Steve say, pumping the boy’s hand. "You look like a basketball player. You got a name?"

"Uh, yeah. Tommy. Tommy Galvin."

"Well, Tommy Galvin, welcome to our party. You walk with me now." Steve looked over his shoulder. The news people were rapidly becoming bolder, stepping in a group towards them. The dozen video cameras sticking out of the crowd resembled an old sailing ship with its guns thrust through its gunports. "Come on, let’s cross the ice and get away from the wolves."

Steve began hauling Galvin up the road. Ellie smiled at his antics, then turned back to the girl in her hands.

"You know what’s happening to me," Samantha said. She held out the orb. Ellie nodded. Samanatha began sobbing, then she hiccuped.

"Oh, no. I felt it again."

"A dizzy spell?" Ellie said softly.

"Yes. Yes! Can-can you stop it? I’m five feet tall—I used to be five feet tall. Now I’m as tall as Tommy. Can you stop it? Please, please help me stop it! I don’t want to grow! None of my clothes fit anymore—I borrowed these pants from my boyfriend. Can you help me? Please help me!"

"Come with me, Samantha Isagiri," Ellie replied. "Don’t be afraid. I was once five feet tall, too. We have something to talk about."

* * * * *